Supernatural 7 - One Year Gone

by Rebecca Dessertine

  “Seems like there are more of them now,” Ben said.

  “Is there any salt on this ship?” Dean asked Teddy.

  “Should be, we use it on the gangplank during the winter,” Teddy said. “We usually keep large sacks of it in the galley.”

  “Okay, well, that’s our second stop. First, where are the guns?”

  “There aren’t any! We don’t keep guns on the ship.”

  “Well, I would say there aren’t any pirates, but I’m pretty sure they’re here. So where would they have stored guns on a working pirate ship?” Dean said.

  Teddy shrugged.

  “Gunpowder room?” Ben suggested.

  Teddy nodded. “Right.”

  Dean punched Ben lightly on the shoulder and the boy straightened proudly.

  Teddy took them down a long staircase to the very bottom of the boat.

  “Through here,” he said.

  “You can’t go in thar,” said a voice behind them.

  The trio swung around. A craggy old sea dog was shackled beneath the stairway.

  “What are you going to do about it, Golem?” Dean challenged.

  “If I wasn’t chained up I would disembowel you,” the old sailor retorted.

  “You look like you could use a colonoscopy yourself,” Dean said, bending down and taking out his pocket knife. He stuck it in the crevice between the floorboards and popped up one of the old planks.

  “What are you doing?” Ben asked.

  “Putting this poor cranky guy out of his misery,” Dean said. He stuck his arm down the hole in the floor and pulled out a human skull.

  “Wha’d’ye have there?” the sea dog asked.

  “Hold it, Yorick.” Sticking his hand back in the hole, Dean pulled out a moldy burlap bag. Inside was a collection of bones. Dean put the skull into the bag, then produced a small tin box of salt from a pocket, which he poured onto the bag.

  “RIP old man.”

  Dean lit his Zippo lighter and held the flame underneath the bag. It lit up instantly, burning bright. The old ghost started to scream.

  Not waiting around to see what happened next, Dean pushed Ben through the door to the gunpowder room. Inside, the room was filled floor to ceiling with large barrels of gunpowder and an array of guns.

  “This wasn’t here before,” Teddy said, amazed.

  “Yeah, well, we don’t want it to be either,” Dean said. “The longer a supernatural force stays in this realm the more energy it gathers, and these ghosts are going to get all cozy in the present. So let’s get them the hell out of here. Gather all the iron pistols you can.”

  “Even me?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, this one time, even you.” Dean handed him a flintlock pistol that was as long as Ben’s forearm.

  “Pull back on this, aim, then pull the trigger,” Dean instructed. “This hammer will create a spark, but it might take a second to fire.”

  “What about your real gun?” Ben asked.

  “I didn’t know there were going to be ghost pirates,” Dean said, filling Ben’s pockets with handfuls of iron pellets. “I left it in the car.”

  BANG!

  The door rattled as buckshot hit the other side.

  “They’re trying to shoot their way in,” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

  The trio grabbed as many muskets and pistols as they could hold and climbed up the ladder at the far end of the room, emerging through a door into yet another part of the ship.

  “This way!” Teddy cried, leading them through a small door.

  “Um, Dean?” Ben stuttered.

  “What?”

  “How do I use this again? Because I think I’m gonna need to,” Ben said, thumbing behind his shoulder. Dean looked down. The pirate ghosts had broken through the door and were now stomping through the artillery, gathering as they went. Now they climbing the ladder.

  “Help me with these barrels!” Dean called to Teddy. They lifted three large barrels full of tar to the door, blocking it. More yells and shouts from the pirates echoed through the ship.

  “Come on! We don’t have much time,” Dean said, urging the others on. “What’s the highest point on the ship? We need to get an advantage.”

  “The poop deck! Follow me,” Teddy said.

  Dean shook his head in disbelief.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Teddy said. “Let’s go.”

  Ben, Teddy and Dean scampered up the deck. The ship was steadily making its way into the Atlantic; only a rim of land could be seen on the horizon. Peering into the open sea, Dean felt a momentary lurch of seasickness. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tilting of the deck beneath his feet.

  The vessel had been completely transformed into its former, seaworthy glory. The deck was full of everything one would need for a long sea voyage: rope, tar, even animals.

  “How did this stuff get here?” Teddy was aghast. “This is on the National Historical Registry. They can’t bring livestock onto a national treasure,” he said, pointing to a goat that bleated at them then scampered away.

  Seconds later a slew of pirates appeared. Dean counted forty confused and pissed-off buccaneers gathered at the bow of the ship, then the pirate from the gun deck stepped forward.

  “I’ll not have mutiny on my ship, mate,” he called.

  Dean stepped forward.

  “Well, I think we’ll hang around. I think it’s time you retired from raping and pillaging anyway. How about throwing in the towel? Go down to Boca. You know, relax.”

  “Why don’t ye just get off?”

  “Yeah dude, that means something different now. Okay,” Dean said to Ben and Teddy, “when they advance, I want you to calmly—”

  “Fire!” Teddy cried as he ineptly aimed his pistol at the ghosts.

  Dean shrugged.

  “Yeah, fire.” He cocked an ancient pistol and fired into the crowd of oncoming surly sailors. An iron ball exploded out of the musket and hit a peg-legged pirate square in the eye, instantly vaporizing him.

  “You got him!” Teddy said.

  “He’ll be back, and more pissed off. This is just to buy us some time,” Dean said, letting off a two-handed barrage of gunfire. Another ghost vaporized, then a couple of seconds later re-materialized, stumbling, in the same place. “Ben, we need salt. Go find the galley!”

  Ben scampered off as Teddy and Dean held the motley crew of pirates at bay. A few minutes later he returned, dragging a large sack of rock salt.

  “Got it!” he called.

  Dean cut open the sack and grabbed it at the base. He heaved a large semi-circle of salt around them. The ghost who seemed to be the captain of the motley crew charged the salt line but couldn’t cross it.

  “I’ll get ye,” he growled.

  “Okay, Captain Crunch, keep your breeches on.” Dean refilled his gun and shot him between the eyes. The ghost vaporized but then re-materialized. Teddy took a swing at him with a iron loading rod. It split the ghost in two. But just for a moment.

  “Ah, Dean!” Ben cried.

  A pirate had climbed up the outside of the ship and was now steadily forcing Ben to walk along the plank on the stern of the ship. Dean took aim at the pirate’s back but Ben was directly behind him—he couldn’t take a shot without hitting Ben too.

  “Ben, stay calm. Aim your pistol at him and shoot!” Dean directed.

  “It’s jammed!” the boy called. Tears were streaming down Ben’s cheeks.

  “Throw it at him!” Dean yelled.

  Ben hefted his gun at the ghost, but the grizzly pirate caught it deftly and instead aimed it at Ben.

  “Duck!” Dean cried as he aimed and shot at the ghost. Ben hit the plank as the shot ripped through the ghost. Dean jumped to the plank and pulled Ben up and behind him.

  The ghost quickly came back.

  “Teddy! Shoot!” Dean screamed.

  Teddy rotated a cannon, then lit the fuse. The ball rumbled out of the opening and arced toward the ghost. It obliterated the specter a
nd punched through the stern of the boat.

  “We have to turn this ship around. Teddy can you do that?” Dean asked.

  “I can try,” Teddy replied. He jumped over the salt line, caught a hanging rope and in a move that would have made Indiana Jones proud, swung to the other side of the deck, landing at the wheel.

  “Ben, see that little dinghy right there?” Dean pointed. “Start lowering it down. When Teddy gets the ship turned around, you set it in the water and get in. You understand?”

  “What are you going to do?” Ben asked.

  “I’m going to make sure these pirates don’t reach land,” Dean said determinedly. He spotted a thick length of rope. Simultaneously shooting at ghosts, he dragged the rope over to a large barrel of tar, dunked in the entire rope, some two-hundred pounds’ worth, then threw it over the side of the ship.

  He called out to Ben, “Ben, grab the other end of the rope and don’t let go. Okay?”

  Ben waved as he fought to lower the dinghy on a pulley.

  Meanwhile, Teddy pulled at the wheel and the ship began to turn in a big lazy curve.

  The pirates all shot to one side of the deck, giving them temporary relief from attack.

  Dean took the opportunity to throw salt mixed with gun powder in lines across the deck. Then he carefully lit each line. In moments an enormous crosshatch of fire spread across the surface of the ship.

  Dean raced across the deck to help Teddy at the wheel. Perched on a turret, struggling against the ancient ring of wood, Teddy heroically stood fast and hung on, making sure the ship made a full turn. Dean kicked and shot at oncoming ghosts. A long-haired pirate attacked and Dean beheaded him with an iron sword. The pirate vaporized then reappeared just three feet away.

  “Come closer, I want to rip your heart out an’ eat it for me dinner,” Hairy declared.

  “Sorry, I’m not free for lunch, Long John Silver,” Dean said, swinging the iron sword again and knocking the ghost clear onto the other side of a burning salt line. Dean turned back toward the turret just as another pirate climbed over a railing and snuck up behind Teddy.

  “Teddy, watch out!” Dean shouted.

  The pirate swung his sword.

  It cut straight through Teddy’s torso.

  Teddy turned around and gasped. The ghost jumped onto him and stuck his hand inside his chest. Teddy’s eyes saucered wide, he clutched at his heart, then fell forward onto the wheel.

  The ship pitched right, debris tumbled off the deck, a couple of ghosts plunged into the churning water. Dean raised his gun and shot at Teddy’s killer. The pirate vaporized, then came back. Dean shot at him again and raced to Teddy’s side. He was dead. Crap, poor guy. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to see if Ben had witnessed Teddy’s violent end. Better if the boy doesn’t know what happened.

  Dean took another length of rope and tied the wheel of the ship so it was headed straight toward shore. He jumped onto the railing, shoved the gun in the waistband of his jeans, and pulled a hanging piece of rope close.

  “Anything to do with Tarzan—always a bad idea,” he muttered. He held on tight and heaved himself off the railing. The rope arced low over the length of the deck like a pendulum. Dean kicked and stabbed a couple of pirates as they clamored and grasped at his heels. At the top of the trajectory, Dean jumped off and pushed Ben into the dinghy.

  “Tour’s over.”

  Dean grabbed the tar-coated rope, and took a bag of gunpowder out of his pocket. He plastered it onto the end of the rope and lit it with his Zippo.

  “Cut the rope!”

  Ben produced a machete and cut the pulley rope. The dinghy swung out and hung for a second, then dropped harshly into the water.

  The first explosion bloomed from the deck, rocketing flaming debris over the sides of the ship toward the dinghy.

  “Row, row hard!” Dean urged.

  Ben and Dean pulled at the oars, straining against the pull of the ship as it surged forward. They were caught in its wake. The two vessels were quickly approaching shore. But as furiously as Ben and Dean tried to row away from the ship, its thrust made it impossible to maneuver out of its grasp.

  “Where’s Teddy?” Ben shouted over the roar of the explosions.

  “He’s fine,” Dean replied, looking sadly back at the ship. “Don’t worry about him.” Ben was too breathless from rowing to press him further.

  The top deck caught fire as a series of smaller explosions ripped tank-sized holes in the side of the ship. Dean and Ben bobbed alongside the flaming fireball.

  “We need to push ourselves away from the ship,” Dean called.

  Ben nodded. “We need a cannon or something.”

  Dean thought a moment. He looked around them, they were surrounded by debris bobbing in the churning water. What could he use?

  “Help me get this thing in the boat,” Dean instructed. He and Ben leaned over the side of the small craft, careful not to let it capsize, and pulled a cracked nine-foot-long piece of mast from the water.

  Another explosion ripped through the back of the ship, shooting the cast-iron stove into the water. Seeing a solution, Dean paddled and managed to get to the pipe which let out the smoke. He pried it off the sinking stove and grabbed a floating plank of wood.

  “We need to nail this plank onto the bottom of this pipe. Find nails, whatever you can,” Dean said.

  As the ship sped toward the shore, Dean and Ben struggled to stay afloat as they fished pieces of debris out of the water and using the handle of Ben’s machete managed to nail the plank onto the pipe. Dean shoved a bag of gunpowder down the end of the pipe and then, with difficulty, positioned the pipe against the bow of the dinghy and the plank that ran across as a second seat. They heaved the mast into the pipe, and turned the dinghy’s bow toward the ship.

  “Hold onto the stern, Ben. As soon as you feel the boat shoot forward—you kick!”

  “Kick? Why?”

  “’Cause this puppy is going to tear this thing apart like a chew toy,” Dean warned. He lit a piece of tarred rope and dropped it into the pipe. “Hold tight!”

  The pipe sizzled and cracked, then the gunpowder shot the mast out of the pipe. The mast was so long that it hit the ship while still in contact with the pipe. The dinghy shot forward, freeing itself from the wake of the ship. The explosion ripped the dinghy’s stern off and Dean and Ben’s legs dipped into the cold water. They both gasped.

  “Kick!” Dean yelled.

  They kicked the front half of the dinghy away from the ship. The sails were aflame, and the top of the ship was charring to black. The floating inferno narrowly missed a leisure tour boat. As the water calmed, closer to shore, the ship took a slow curve, as if it was trying to steer itself back to its old position. The flaming mass of wood and rope plowed into the old dock, throwing up debris onto the parking lot and a crowd of gaping tourists.

  A fireball burst from the ship, instantly burning up the remaining ghosts on board. The inferno washed over the old wooden pier, setting alight a car which had the misfortune of being parked in the closest handicap space.

  Fire trucks zoomed in from all corners of the parking lot. A crowd gathered behind them.

  Dean and Ben continued to kick toward the shore. As the water became shallower, Dean pushed himself off the dinghy and pulled it onto the sandy beach. He paused for a moment, breathing deeply.

  “Dean! Ben!” He heard Lisa scream from the rocks above the beach.

  Dean helped Ben out of the water and the two of them climbed over the rocks; sandy, wet, and exhausted.

  Lisa grasped Ben, hugging him despite the soaking, dirty state of him.

  “What happened? You were supposed to go on a quiet boat tour—while docked!” Lisa said, looking incredulously at the damage.

  “There were ghosts, Mom. Pirate ghosts,” Ben said. “But we got them—we burned them and shot them. It was very cool.”

  Lisa looked at Dean.

  “Did he touch a gun?”

  “Lis, that’
s not the point. This was a ‘three-hour tour’ from hell,” Dean responded. “Besides, he wasn’t half bad with a flintlock.” He ruffled Ben’s hair.

  “He touched a gun!” Lisa’s eyes were wide and angry. “I said no guns. Ever.”

  “You know, Lisa, we could stand around here and talk this over, but I think maybe the police are going to want to... Maybe we should leave.”

  “Why does destruction follow you wherever you go?” she asked despairingly.

  “This really wasn’t my fault. Right, Ben?” Dean slung his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “The pirates came after us first.”

  “Why would pirates come after you?” Lisa said. “What did you do to them?”

  “They’re ghosts, Lisa, it doesn’t really work that way,” Dean said, looking away toward the rapidly growing crowd of onlookers.

  “Hey Dean, where’s Teddy? Is he still on the ship?” Ben looked anxiously at the burned remains of the pirate vessel.

  Dean ran a hand through his hair. No way could he tell the kid what had really happened. He’d been through enough that day already.

  “He’s all right. I think he’s over there.” Dean pointed vaguely across the parking lot.

  Then he spotted her. Across the parking lot, a tall, tight-faced woman in a dark coat, staring straight at them.

  “Well, how does it work?” Lisa said, trying to get Dean’s attention. “Dean?”

  The woman continued to stare at Dean over the commotion in the parking lot. He’d never seen her before, but there was something about her that was both familiar and threatening.

  “Dean? Dean, I’m talking to you. Is there something I should know about? Are more ghosts going to come after us?”

  Dean took hold of Lisa’s shoulders and stared into her eyes.

  “No. I promise. They won’t,” he said, firmly. “But you have to trust me and do what I tell you: Go back to the hotel and don’t open the door to anybody. Okay?”

  “Dean, you’re scaring me. What is going on?” Lisa looked back at him, eyes wide.

  “Can I be that guy and say I’ll explain later?” Dean asked.

  “You know in the movies that never works out,” Lisa replied.